


happily tragedy (ever after)

by kimaracretak



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark Side Rey, F/F, Fairy Tale Style, Jakku, Knight of Ren Rey, Mutual Pining, Protectiveness, the force is a desert that would like to eat you because it loves you and so is rey, the surprisingly short road from 'i want to steal your bones' to 'i want you'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14013909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: Rey is everything and everyone she needs to be. And Phasma is always there.





	happily tragedy (ever after)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celeste9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/gifts).



> title from blackbriar, 'fractured fairytale'
> 
> infinite thanks to @something_pithy, @trish47, and @meritmut for their incomparable beta work <3

i. r'iia

Once upon a time there was a girl made of sand, and the sunlight that spilled through her fingers was swallowed whole before it found anywhere to shine through.

The girl thinks she must have bones, somewhere under the sand. All dead things have bones, and when they're gone their bones remain. So she bites chapped lips and peels back the skin that gets caught on the remnant-titans of ships and rearranges the empty spaces so the wind can sing when it passes through her.

She cannot find her bones. It is years before she starts to wonder if she needs them.

It is on a day when the emptiness is starting to creep hollow through her -- up her legs from where her feet are buried in the sand, down her back from where a tangled knot of hair brushes the skin -- that a man comes to her, hungry and kind, and says, _little sister, you must come with me_.

The girl had had parents once, memories less substantial than the winds. She is waiting for them, and because she is everything, she will wait forever.

She has never held a hand before. She wonders if her boneless fingers will survive his grip.

She has never had a brother before, either, so she looks up at him with the wide eyes she knows only from half-formed reflections in tarnished transparisteel, the eyes she knows are too big for her face and too old for her heart, and she says, _brother_.

She does not say anything to the woman at his side, the one with her silver bones on the outside and a purple-stained mouth. She does not need to.

(Once upon a time there was a girl made of sand and her every breath was a command the universe was simply learning to obey).

 

ii. phasma

Once upon a time there was a girl made of metal and the rain that spilled down her hair pressed it so close to her skull that she wondered sometimes if it would sink inside her, turn herself inside out and be remade utterly new.

The girl pieces herself together from purple sand and black stone and shiny, shiny chrome, cast-off remnants of the Parnassos of stories now twisted beyond recognition. She thinks there must be something other than bones, other than armour, but as she walks through death and deals it back, she hopes there isn't.

She is a skeleton, inside and out, and the weak layer of skin trapped between weeps because her eyes no longer can. It is years before she wonders if there is another way for skin to be.

It is on a day when the skinless places are starting to ache -- blistered raw by the sand and sky, empty where the people she no longer needs no longer are -- that a man comes to her, lost and cold, and says, _warrior-child, will you come with me?_

Her teeth are sharp and her mouth is stained with the purple sand of a world that does not know how to stop hurting her. Her aim has only ever been true.

He has so much skin, pale and taut under unnatural orange hair. She doesn't need skin to fire a blaster.

She needs to leave this world, so she looks down at him through the bleached-stubborn eyelashes she's plucked from her cheeks and wished upon, cracks her fingerbones around her staff, and she says, _I am the best_.

She does not say anything to the woman he brings to her too many suns later, the one with skin that merges seamlessly into beams of light and red-stained nails. She does not need to.

(Once upon a time there was a girl made of metal and her every word was a command that those around her learned to die to obey.)

 

iii. raeh

Once upon a time there was a girl made of sand and she was dressed all in black and sat in a room dressed all in grey and there was no sunlight in her hands, not anymore.

_Call me Dosmit Raeh._

Nice try, but Lieutenant Raeh's X-Wing was shot down during the Battle of Jakku. She died in the crash. You don't look dead to me.

 _You're wrong, but it doesn't matter. She is Jakku's. I am her_.

Look, kid, it's none of my business what you called yourself when you were in the middle of nowhere, but this is a First Order training facility, and Master Kylo needs all his freak knights to have a real name. Or do you want him to give you one?

 _I told you, call me Dosmit Raeh_.

But standing up is very hard when you have no bones, and there is no spine to straighten or knees to lock, and the chin lifted in defiance has too soft of a line to give weight to its steadiness.

She didn't have to stand that much on Jakku, the desert welcomed her however she was, because the line between sand and sky blurred need and want until she _only_ was.

It is different, now. She is learning to stand, held and backed by a captain enclosed in silver bones, sand melted and shaped and loved by the elements until it has come to be now, molten-cold to the touch of yearning hands.

She thinks she would like to steal the woman's bones. She thinks perhaps she would like to try slipping underneath them first.

(Once upon a time there was a girl made of sand and her fingers were deft and clever and far too fast, and her every motion was a dance, a claim, a command, and obedience was so much simpler than a choice.)

 

iv. phasma

Once upon a time there was a girl made of metal and she was dressed all in black and sat in a room dressed all in red and there was no rain in her hair, not anymore.

 _I don't train the Force users_.

But you want to, don't you. I see it in your eyes, Captain, we both know what you stole to survive. We both know you're wondering if the same tactics will serve you now.

 _I know what I could teach them. I know what you do to the ones who would lay claim to skill greater than yours, Master Ren_.

And I know that you are loyal, for now. But there is one whose hunger I cannot teach alone.

 _Bring me the girl from Jakku_.

But yielding is very hard when you have been tempered ramrod-straight, and to bend is to break and to be seen bending is to die, or perhaps to pluck out the prying eyes and make them your own.

She couldn't bend, on Parnassos, not when her whole world was pieces twisted, scarred, scattered across the desert and the only way to save herself was to pluck them from the sand and carry them over her bones until all was fused solid.

It is different, now. She is learning to bend, to duck under the other desert girl's lit sabre, to curl careful fingers around tan skin kissed by sun and sand until it has come to be now, molten-hot to the touch of aching hands.

She thinks she would like to steal the woman's skin. She thinks perhaps she would like to try kissing it first.

(Once upon a time there was a girl made of metal and her fingers were cold and tentative and far too slow, and her every move was a promise, a plea, a command, and obedience was chosen again and again and again.)

 

v. rey

Once upon a time there was a girl made of sand, and it took her months to realise that the desert that she carried with her from her home was no longer enough to keep her warm.

(Once upon a time there was a girl made of sand and she wanted, she wanted, she _wanted_.)

 

vi. phasma

Once upon a time there was a girl made of metal, and it took her months to realise that she no longer carried the desert that had been her home and she was newly warm.

(Once upon a time there was a girl made of metal and she wanted, she wanted, she _wanted_.)

 


End file.
